


Five Times Hank Touched Connor, & One Time Connor Touched Back

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon, Sensory Overload, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 08:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: While the revolution continues to rage, it feels like Connor's own private revolution has come and gone. He's free, and yet nothing is as simple, or easy, orgoodas he'd like it to be. And then there's Hank, who is neither simple nor easy to be around. He might just be the good Connor is looking for, though.Now if only he'd stoptouchinghim.





	Five Times Hank Touched Connor, & One Time Connor Touched Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raphae11e](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raphae11e/gifts).



> Fic/art trade with raphae11e! The art was part of a project which will... be unveiled... in due time...
> 
> For the record, we had a second trade immediately after, and she requested DETROIT fic for that one too. So despite my, uh, misgivings about the game, you can expect some slightly less wholesome fic from me soon. If anyone else is interested in art trades, or just wants to talk to me, you can find me on: [my main tumblr,](http://twitchtipthegnawer.tumblr.com/) [my nsfw/gore tumblr,](http://twitchingcorpse.tumblr.com/) [and my twitter.](https://twitter.com/twitchingcorpse?lang=en)

\-----5-----

Connor’s sensitivity had always been turned up from standard models; he needed to be aware of malfunctions quickly, needed to react to the slightest stimulus a suspect could provide, and quite frankly needed to be a good lay should the situation require it.

But since becoming deviant, those sensations affected him differently. It wasn’t that he was suddenly _more_ sensitive, no, rather that the same input led to a different cognitive output. And perhaps this wouldn’t have been a problem (he was sure he could get used to it in time) if other things hadn’t also changed with his deviancy.

People kept _touching him._ Mostly other androids involved in the rebellion, which wasn’t _too_ bad, but he would certainly prefer them to _not._

And then there was Hank, who, well. Connor didn’t quite know how to describe it.

From an analysis perspective Hank had bonded with him in lieu of and in part because of his dead son. Connor was not a replacement so much as a second chance, and this particular perspective had him twisted up in his thoughts, though he didn’t know why. More than that, however, there was the problem of what that bonding entailed.

Friendly touches. No special meaning to them. But Hank stood closer, smiled more, and each casual brush of their shoulders had Connor’s breath catching in his chest.

It was ridiculous; he didn’t even _need_ to breathe. Thirium required oxygenation, yes, but not the degree that blood did, so breathing was mostly a cosmetic feature in androids. Meant to make humans more comfortable. And yet.

Connor couldn’t catch his breath.

He didn’t pinpoint the exact cause of this phenomenon until he was eating lunch with Hank at the food stall which had still somehow remained open. There were stubborn humans living in the city still, who were either too brave or too sympathetic towards the androids to simply leave. Connor wondered which the vendor belonged to while Hank ate.

“Hey, can you taste anything with that fancy tongue of yours?” Hank asked.

“I can analyze the components making up whatever I put on my tongue, yes, but I doubt it would be the same as your sense of taste Lieutenant.”

Hank held out his second hot dog, saying, “Wanna try anyway?”

At a loss, Connor didn’t know what else to do besides reach out with two fingers and swipe up a bit of mustard. He put it on his tongue, and promptly felt his mouth loll open like a too-hot dog.

His vision was positively _swamped_ with information, the brand and where they sourced their plant-based products and - way more than he needed to know. “Ah think ah can’t analyth thith,” he lisped, unwilling to put his tongue back.

Across the table from him, Hank was doubled over laughing. Shocked, Connor could only watch as Hank wiped a tear from his eye, rough guffaws shaking his shoulders. He looked… handsome, almost, when he smiled like that.

When he finally had himself under control, Hank clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “You’re alright kid, you know that?”

He didn’t respond immediately - _couldn’t_ respond immediately. He sat there with a stupid look on his face and just tried to _process._ Hank’s face smiling, that had already been a lot, his thirium pump pulsing quicker and quicker, and then the hand on his shoulder and androids were warm, of course they were, running machines produced a lot of heat. So why did it feel like Hank was fairly _burning_ him.

“Connor? Hey, anybody home?”

“I, ah, yes,” Connor blinked and tried to school his features. He doubted he did a good job with it; he hadn’t had much practice yet. “Sorry, Lieutenant. You were saying?”

And the conversation just… continued, as if nothing had happened. As if Connor hadn’t suddenly realized that there was another human emotion he was unprepared for, as much blindsiding him as Kamski’s asinine empathy test had.

Affection was a strange thing to feel so strongly, to say the least.

\-----4-----

He’d sort of thought he’d managed to acclimate. At the very least, Connor no longer felt the need to wrap himself up tightly in a blanket and simply hide from the camaraderie Markus kept encouraging him to participate in. Not even when Josh had found out exactly how many times Connor had experienced death and hugged him sympathetically.

But tonight he was helping Hank clean his house, and that had started off fine. He… worried, at the amount of empty bottles and bullet shells he was piling into the garbage bag, but he had yet to find a way to stop Hank from drinking. And the suicidal ideation _had_ been getting better. Connor had kept a very close eye on that.

So everything had been going well, very well, until Connor had picked up the photo of Hank’s son he’d left face down on the bathroom counter. It was the only photograph he had, as far as Connor could tell, and he’d gotten a bit lost staring into it.

The kid _did_ look a lot like Hank. Especially when they smiled, so bright that Connor could almost imagine the years falling away. He wondered what Hank had been like to work with in his heyday, and felt surprisingly sad he hadn’t been around to see it.

“Connor?” Hank’s voice had come from right outside the door. Connor startled, but didn’t have time to put the photo down before Hank came in. The guilty look in his hunched shoulders was painfully transparent, he knew, and Hank didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then a firm hand enclosed the back of his neck, and if Connor hadn’t been frozen before, he was now. “He would’ve loved you, y’know,” Hank said. “Always had a fascination with robots.”

Though the words were immensely comforting, Connor couldn’t focus on either the gentle tease or the reassurance. He was too busy with the blinding heat radiating out from the back of his neck, spinal support column feeling like it was reaching the point where it would simply melt into useless liquid and he’d collapse.

Hank squeezed, a single, rough motion, unpracticed and all the more endearing for it. And Connor _did_ feel his body slump, shoulders relaxing and his neck tilting back into the touch for only a moment. Hank inhaled sharply, and Connor forced himself to pull away from the delicious sensation. The back of his neck felt cold when Hank’s hand fell away.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor said. Using Hank’s first name to show his sincerity (certainly not for any other reason). “You don’t have to talk about him, I know it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Nah, we’re close enough, aren’t we?” Hank looked at the photo in Connor’s hands. To his shock, the man was smiling sadly, not glaring or frowning or anything else Connor might have expected. “Let’s get back to cleaning for now. We’ll spill our guts about shit later.”

“Yes, lieutenant,” Connor said. As he replaced the photo, he gave it one last look.

For some reason Hank decided to take advantage of his distraction and reach up, lightning fast, to squeeze the back of his neck again. Connor jumped and turned, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Hank simply shrugged, grinned, and walked away whistling.

After only just putting together his own feelings for the (now retired) policeman, Connor didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on.

\-----3-----

The fact of the matter was, deviancy couldn’t always be a peaceful, simple cross from “slave” to “free.” Sometimes it broke people. Ralph was broken, Connor had met him a couple of times and that much was clear, but with a support structure in the form of Jerry (Jerrys?) he wasn’t a danger to those around him.

This one was. And he and Hank had startled it, or, _her,_ without even realizing she was there. The abandoned apartment complex was just supposed to be a routine check just in case supplies helpful for the rebellion were somewhere in there. Now it was much more like the crime scenes they used to frequent together.

She’d come around the corner faster than Connor could react, a weapon raised in both hands. It came down at an angle and impacted his forehead hard enough to jarr his vision and send him reeling into the wall, and she ran out of his line of sight again.

Sound buzzed in his ears, a malfunction of bicomponent #62195, shit. His shoulder slid down the wall as his knees wobbled.

And then suddenly, hands cradled his cheeks, large and gentle and scarred. “Hey, fuck, you okay Connor? Look at me, shit you’re bleeding pretty bad there. Do head wounds bleed on androids like they do on humans?”

“Hank?” Connor winced as his voice mechanically stutter-stopped. “You have to chase her, she’s going to escape.”

“Nah. You’ve rescued me before, remember? ‘Bout time I returned the favor.”

He was still cradling Connor’s cheeks. It made the pain (not pain, he told himself, simple feedback relaying an injury, not…) so much more bearable. Fingertips barely breaching his hairline on the left side. Held like he was something precious, like he had a human brain to keep safe in there.

Even though that grip was a bit wet, even though Connor ended up needing to use Hank as support all the way back to the rebellion’s current base, and even though Connor wasn’t human in the slightest, he cherished that feeling for days afterwards.

\-----2-----

“I hate hospitals,” Hank grumbled.

They were in the last operating hospital in Detroit, waiting to hear if Adam Chapman was going to be okay. Connor had been against the nervous-looking young man going on a mission with them, and was not happy to have been proven right.

“Sorry,” Connor said. “We could always wait outside, if you wanted?”

“No, no,” Hank shook his head. “It’s the smell of this place. It gets in your clothes and lingers for days, y’know?”

Although he didn’t really, Connor nodded. Hank hunched over with his forearms resting on his knees, head drooping in a posture of defeat.

Trying to cheer Hank up, Connor said, “It wasn’t your fault. He rushed in when he shouldn’t have. You’re the one who got him out alive, Hank.”

When Hank flinched at the first sentence and barely acknowledged the others, Connor realized he’d been a bit off the mark. But Hank didn’t often like talking directly about things, the way Connor was comfortable with. He’d been made with interrogations in mind, not counseling, and it burned in an entirely different way to Hank’s touch.

That gave him an idea, though. Connor nudged his shoulder into Hank’s and tried to catch his eyes. “Hey, we’re partners right? You can rely on me more.”

Another of those rare smiles from Hank made an appearance, though this one was sadder than ever. He wrapped an arm around Connor’s shoulders, slipped one hand into his hair, and their faces were dangerously close together. “Same goes for you, kid,” Hank said.

Then he guided Connor’s head down to rest on his shoulder. They were pressed together all along one side, and the fingers now playing with Connor’s hair were… odd.

“I don’t usually experience much sensation in my scalp,” Connor noted quietly.

Without stopping his ministrations, Hank said, “That so?”

“Yes. It is… pleasant.”

They were still like that when the doctor came out and gave them the good news; Adam would be okay, and they could get home so Hank could have a long shower and rid himself of the smell he hated so much. Connor was looking forward to it, even if peeling himself away from Hank’s comforting contact felt a bit like pulling out one of his own pieces.

\-----1-----

A couple of months had passed since the last time they’d seen each other. The bill officially proclaiming androids to be sentient life was signed, and Connor had had to follow Markus on the long… press-tour-type-thing he’d gone on. Being a bodyguard was good for him, even if sometimes it felt like Markus didn’t need it.

Of course, sometimes Markus needed it very much, and Connor was exhausted when he stumbled to Hank’s door. But he hadn’t wanted to wait any longer to see him. Even if he had a built-in phone in his brain, simple calls weren’t a replacement for seeing him in real life.

Before he could knock on the door Hank was already opening it, a huge grin on his face like that time so long ago when Connor had stuck his tongue out like a child tasting something bitter. “I’m so glad you’re back!” He cried, wrapping Connor into a tight hug.

Firm pressure across his waist, a body pressing soft against his front. Connor’s own hands twitched at his sides as he tried to figure out how to react. Hank wasn’t letting go, and the seconds felt like they were compounding. So much, almost his whole body being touched at once, and it was unyielding he couldn’t shake it off he didn’t -

Connor just about _dissolved._ So long without contact, just fighting and shaking hands, had sensitized him all over again. _Uh oh._

“Ah, Hank, I missed you too, I,” Connor gripped the bottom hem of Hanks shirt in trembling hands. “I’m, sort of,” _overheating_ , he didn’t say.

A hand in his hair, again. Hank’s head coming up and back, was he going to stop hugging him? Connor pressed closer at the exact moment Hank kissed him.

And oh, if Connor had thought he was overheating _before._

 _Arrhythmia,_ he thought, chest-to-chest against Hank, both their pulses out of whack. Hank pressed their lips together, a lingering thing that wasn’t deep in the slightest, and Connor opened his mouth without thinking, just _wanting,_ a silent plea.

Hank obliged; abruptly, Connor realized his error. The flood of messages overwhelmed him until he was hanging limp in Hank’s grasp, unable to respond, simply trying to process what his mouth was telling him. The physical sensations were pleasant, but they kept interrupting him in the middle of trying to dismiss the popups in his vision.

His eyes rolled back. _BAC 0.0, recently ate sugary cereal, tooth fillings -_ Hank moved his tongue against the roof of Connor’s mouth, and none of it had time to sink in.

Finally, Hank moved back, and Connor thought he was probably expressing some kind of concern but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own hyperventilation.

“Again,” he said, between gasps.

“I’m sorry?” Hank was absolutely going to protest more, but Connor didn’t give him the chance, dove right back into a kiss that he tried to keep ferocious, he _did,_ but it was hard when he was overwhelmed all over again.

“Er,” Hank said, when Connor subsided and contented himself with panting in Hank’s arms. “So, I take it kissing is fun for you too, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Connor agreed. “Can we do more of it?”

Chuckling shakily, Hank squeezed Connor tighter. The android gave a little shiver/wiggle of pleasure. “Yeah, kid. We can.”


End file.
